Tuesday, 26 October 2010


The door opens into your world
A dark and private place
Whirring noises
Small square window
Reflecting light
I stumble over words.

I want to see your scar
Tentatively you show me
Our heads bent together
In quiet contemplation
I touch the place the knife went in
It feels awkward yet close.

Then the first reel clicks
The audience demands
You attend to the machines
I take a step backwards
I stand there beside you
Watching your hands.